


wanting makes the world go round

by electrumqueen



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Canon-Typical themes, Cuddling & Snuggling, Episode Related, Fluff, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 09:36:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6149284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electrumqueen/pseuds/electrumqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He slept on the sofa." Or; Robert Sugden is a lying liar who lies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	wanting makes the world go round

**Author's Note:**

> [[x](http://justleavemebreathless.tumblr.com/post/140292398261)]  
> 
> 
> yesterday (1.3.16) i had knee surgery and as i came out, high as a fucking kite, i stared in delighted joy at emmerdale on my tiny android screen. very tolerantly, j sat with me in chat while i shrieked in borderline incoherence, and also cried, and then she had the great decency to look this over for me in the aftermath.    
>
>> Me: Also now I wanna write post ep cuddling but I’m too fucked up from surgery so I’m just gonna type @ u abt it  
> [ten minutes later]  
> Me: not gonna write this too stoned  
> Me: [writes it in ur gchat instead]
> 
> technically this is actually post-ep for 29.02, i guess. the important thing is that there is cuddling. 
> 
> title from [elisabeth hewer](http://elisabethhewer.co.uk/post/53930839088/xv). 

-

 

Aaron’s drunk. Not bladdered, not _bad decisions_ drunk - though he is sitting on Adam and Vic’s couch sharing a stack of cans with Robert flipping Sugden; despite everything that’s happened in the past two months, there’s probably a good level of _bad decision_ to him being here.

Adam and Vic have gone to bed and it’s just the two of them left down here. It's quiet, but not too quiet. Adam shot them a look before he and Vic went upstairs, and Vic and Robert had a little conversation in Sugden eye contact, but Robert nodded and she seemed okay about it, in the end. And Aaron's mum hasn't come right over to give them both a bollocking, so that's something. 

Robert’s got his arm around Aaron’s shoulders. Aaron doesn’t mind. It’s quite nice, actually: the warmth of him, the smell. Aaron’s probably had one too many but he’s not scared.

All right, he’s a little bit scared. He’s not stupid, Aaron; Robert knows all the ways to hurt him and even more of them now, with all the crying that’s been happening this past month. But Robert hasn’t used them yet and he’s had plenty of chances to kick Aaron when he’s down; Aaron’s given him plenty of reasons to kick off, like he had back in the scrapyard, that day he got shot.

But he hasn’t. He’s kept his mouth shut, and he’s got an arm around Aaron and Aaron’s got his head tucked against Robert’s shoulders and they were talking, a minute ago, Robert telling some stupid posh bloke joke and Aaron laughing at the way he told it more than the words themselves. Now they’re not, but it’s not strange. It’s just - nice, innit? Comfortable.

Aaron’s surprised by how comfortable it is. They never used to do this, even when back when they were together - all right, ‘together’, whatever the word was for when they were fucking behind Robert’s wife’s back and Aaron had gone fucking mental and fallen in love.

Sure, Robert’s touchy after sex; sure, Aaron plays at being hard but part of him had really fucking loved the way Robert would hold onto him and run his fingers along Aaron’s skin and kiss him, with little heat, only fondness. That is, until the mood would shift and one of them - usually Robert - would roll on top of the other one - usually Aaron - and kiss him until they remembered what they’d actually met up to do.

They had never just - hung out. Had a few drinks and Robert’s arm slung around Aaron’s shoulder, just warm and present and _there._

Aaron’s drunk but he really likes it, he thinks. This, now. He knows Robert did the right thing, not kissing him when he wanted it, back in the park when he was just so tired of all of it, of everything, of not getting what he wanted. It hadn’t felt like the right thing at the time, with Aaron strung out and wired and Robert the one stable thing, the one thing that made him feel good, the memory of Robert’s mouth and hands and cock the thing that helped him sleep at night, helped him forget all the other things that were stuck, running rampant in his head.

It feels like the right thing now. Robert is pressed against his side, stroking his back; Aaron’s got his eyes closed and he’s resting his cheek on the span of Robert’s broad shoulders.

And there’s nothing else to expect, nothing else to wait for - just this. Just Robert, who loves him, holding him close.

 

“I’ll sleep on the sofa,” Robert says, eventually. They’re out of cans, have been for a while, and Aaron’s just covered his third yawn in a row. The conversation ran out a while back, replaced by a warm, drunken silence, but Aaron hasn’t minded and he doesn’t think Robert has, either. “You take my bed, all right, you’ve got enough going on without a crick in your neck from Vic’s shitty furniture.”

Aaron looks up at him: Robert Sugden, with his pale skin and his hair sticking up at the front and his eyes, calm and sincere and free of pity. “Come up with us, yeah? Not like - I just don’t wanna be alone.” He’s learned from Robert, the way Robert’s learned from him; picked up a few lessons here and there even as he was trying to hold himself inside his skin despite all the gaping chunks Robert had ripped out of him. “You said you wouldn’t leave.”

Robert sighs. That look is in his eyes: it’s not lust, even though Aaron used to get them confused, back then; rather, a sort of disarmed wonder that Aaron knows is his.

“Aaron-"

“Just to sleep,” Aaron says. He can feel his smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and he lets it, just a little: a secret, tiny smile, the kind Robert once told Aaron he liked, because it was just for him. He’d been drunk, Robert: drunk and running his fingers over Aaron’s chest, and belly, and thighs. But Aaron had believed him and smiled too. “Just want to know you’re here, all right?”

Robert shivers. It’s a rush, sometimes. Knowing that Robert Sugden will do what Aaron wants. “Yeah, all right,” he says. “If you’re sure.”

Aaron lets his smile spread a little broader, reaching up to ruffle Robert’s hair. “Don’t worry,” he says. “Your virtue’s safe with me, yeah?”

Both of them wince as he says it. Aaron drops his hand, digs his nails into his palm. Robert strokes a hand along his spine and presses a kiss to his forehead - just quickly, instinctively. Automatic.

It helps, is the thing. It makes Aaron’s stomach less knotted up; reminds him where he is. He doesn’t know when Robert learned to do this, gentle Aaron when he gets like this, when his skin’s too tight and he just wants to hurt - but he’s not denying that it’s been well useful.

“All right,” Robert murmurs.

 

They go upstairs, tumbling into each other on the stairwell. This time when Robert shushes him it’s not because of Chas, or Paddy, or his tumbling house of cards at Home Farm; this time it’s because it’s late, and their friends are asleep, and these floorboards creak like anything.

The bed in the guest room is a tiny twin, with faintly floral sheets to match the mass of floral wallpaper.

“I can still take the sofa,” Robert says, waiting in the doorframe. He’s long and beautiful: Aaron used to dream about him. Still does.

It’s strange to be able to think about Robert like this. Aaron hasn’t felt this light in so, so long.

“Nah, mate, you’re all right,” he says, getting out of his jeans to toss them over the chair in the corner. “I want the outside though, okay?”

He trusts Robert. He wouldn’t be here otherwise.

And he trusts Robert to know what Aaron means. Regardless of what he's said out loud. 

“I’m gonna kick you in the night,” Robert says, pulling the door shut behind them. “Look - shove me out if I’m doing it, yeah? I won’t mind the floor.” He steps out of his trousers - folds them neatly, some things don’t change - and then goes for his top, pausing with his fingers tugging up the hem.

Aaron thinks he might be staring. Robert’s belly is a pale sliver and he remembers what it felt like to kiss. It’s been a while, and Aaron is drunk.

Robert blinks, tangling his fingers in his shirt. “Is this okay?” he asks. “I can get pyjamas. I can get you pyjamas.”

Aaron laughs and steps forward, getting up into Robert's space until Robert gives up the ghost and wraps his arms around Aaron, pulling him in close. He gives good hugs, does Robert. Warm and all encompassing and kind. It’s funny; Aaron never used to think of Robert as kind.

"You're all right,"  Aaron repeats, softly, against the shell of Robert’s ear.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing, he doesn’t think. But that’s never stopped him before. And - strangely, lately - if he’s gonna make this mistake he thinks he might as well do it here. Known quantities, and all that.

Robert leans back. Not a lot, but enough; but then he takes the sting out of it with the flat of his palm, curling against Aaron’s cheek. “I should probably,” he starts, sighs. “I don’t - I meant what I said, yeah? About waiting. Taking our time.”

“You calling me irresistible?” Aaron teases, looking right at Robert, at his bright eyes and the way he falters at the force of Aaron’s stare. There’s a little flutter in his belly; _you want me._ He likes the way it makes him feel. He respects the choice Robert made - the choice Aaron agreed to, out in the woods with the chill in their breath - but it stung then and it stings now.

Robert opens his mouth and Aaron can almost see the joke about to fall out of it - _got a big head there don't you?_ \- but then he swallows it back, goes softer in the eyes, the sort of softness that Aaron didn't use to think he was capable of but now sees everywhere, in all of Robert's movements, in every moment they're together, in everything Robert gives up to make Aaron feel something even remotely resembling safe.

"Always," Robert says.

It stretches out between them - the truth of it, the weight.

Aaron ducks his head. “All right,” he says. “Give us some pants then, if that’s how we’re playing it.”

Robert’s face cracks into a smile - broad and loose and sweet, the kind that lights up his whole face. “All right,” he says. When he lets go of Aaron both of them wince, but Aaron doesn’t say anything and neither does Robert.

When he bends over to rummage in the dresser, Aaron lets himself look. No shame in it - it’s nice, knowing that he’s still wanted, that Robert still wants him - but more important now, reminding himself that he can do the wanting, too. The curve of Robert’s arse is lovely, and he hasn’t stopped wearing his underwear small and black and tight.

“Here y’are,” Robert says, straightening up, a pile of cloth in his hands.

Aaron catches the trackpants he’s thrown one-handed. They’re black, loose; wouldn’t have pegged them for Robert Sugden, but there are a lot of things Aaron wouldn’t have pegged Robert for, even last fucking week, if he’s being honest.

Robert’s own bottoms are blue silk. Sometimes Aaron can predict Robert pretty fucking well.

 

Robert’s trackies are fucking tight - he’s a lean fucker, not built like Aaron - so Aaron’s got to hop on one foot to get them on, swearing under his breath as he goes. When he finally does it - yanks them over his hips, victorious - Robert winks at him; he’s been leaning on the desk chair, watching.

“Nice little plan of yours,” Aaron says, “good show, was it?”

“Always,” Robert says, laughing, only a little heat sparking through his voice: a game, nothing serious. “So you weren’t looking at me, just before?” He pulls his shirt over his head properly this time, leaving himself bare for Aaron’s eyes: all the muscle of him, the landscape Aaron used to know so well. Who is Aaron to deny either of them? It’s been so long.

He lets himself look. There are new scars, things Aaron wasn’t around for, things Robert brought upon himself, Aaron reckons, but still with their marks left upon him; but that’s not what Aaron wants to think about right now, so he doesn’t. Instead he sits on the edge of the bed and lets himself enjoy it, Robert’s muscles and the endless goddamn length of him.

Robert winks at him, easy; takes his time about finding his fucking top. It’s charged, the air between the two of them, like it gets before a thunderstorm; but it’s always like that, there’s not a time Aaron can remember without the snap, the promise, hanging hot between them. This, right now, both of them smiling, both of them calm: it’s the closest Aaron thinks they’ve ever been to platonic.

It’s not a bad situation, really.

“Think you’re fit, do you,” Aaron says, rubbing the back of his hand across his mouth.

Robert flips him off and slides past him, into the bed, pulling the blankets up around his waist and holding out one arm, open. The blue of his top is striking against the faded floral sheets. It’s a tiny bed, but Aaron will fit. There, in the space Robert is making for him.

Aaron breathes out. It comes out harder than he meant it to; both of them blink.

“You don’t have to,” Robert says, immediately, sitting up. “Aaron, I swear, I honestly don’t mind taking the sofa.”

“Shut up,” Aaron says. He takes a deep breath and swings his legs over, into the blankets, pressing his shoulder against Robert’s, the way that Robert would press a kiss to his temple, if Aaron were the one on edge. “Come on, Rob.”

Obligingly, Robert slings his arm around Aaron’s shoulder again. Again, it feels good, safe and warm, like the time in the scrapyard watching the sun, letting himself go. It wasn’t long ago at all, but it feels like a whole different world.

Robert smells like the cans they drank and his fucking aftershave and the mint toothpaste he brushed his teeth with not two minutes ago, shoulder-to-shoulder with Aaron in the the tiny bathroom, smiling at each other in the rusting mirror; and underneath all of that there’s the musk of him, _Robert Sugden_. Like a hammer blow to Aaron’s heart, like the definition of desire.

“Hey,” Robert says, softly, peering into Aaron’s face. His eyes are doing that weird thing they do - they’ve gone distant, hundreds of years away, but also startlingly, terrifyingly present - hyperfocused, like Aaron’s the only thing in the world. Like he sees all of Aaron: all the Aaron that ever is, was, will be. He rubs two fingers along Aaron’s shoulder, skimming the fabric of his t-shirt, a warm trail that settles in Aaron’s stomach, gently, calmly. “Okay?”

“Ask me one more time,” Aaron says, wriggling against Robert’s side, trying to judge the best way to fit their bodies together. He’s not used to it: they slept in bigger beds, and they didn’t exactly think about how to share the space of them. They used to just fall asleep, sticky with sweat, and eventually in the night come to some sort of peaceable arrangement. “I swear, Robert, I’ll put you on the sofa myself.”

Robert laughs, an undignified little honk of a thing. “Whatever you say.”

It takes Aaron a minute: he’s not been in a bed like this in a long time, not to sleep. When he’s got his head on Robert’s shoulder that’s nice - he can sling one thigh across Robert’s legs and feel Robert’s arm tucked against his side, pulling him in close - but. “Your arm’s gonna fall asleep like this."

“Don’t mind,” Robert says, squeezing him tighter as if to prove his point. “I can handle it.” He settles his other hand on Aaron’s hip, like an anchor, like if he doesn’t Aaron will drift away. He might not be wrong.

But Aaron’s here, after all. He doesn’t think he’s going anywhere. Definitely not in the plan, anyway.

“I’m a decent sized bloke,” Aaron says. “I’m not having you throw me in it tomorrow when you’ve got an aching arm and can’t hack your share of the scrapping, am I?”

Robert shrugs, rubbing at Aaron’s hip, just lightly, like he doesn’t notice he’s doing it. “I wouldn’t,” he says.

Aaron stifles his smile in Robert’s shoulder, in the stupid silk of his stupid shirt. “I know.”

Robert hums under his breath and his grip on Aaron’s hip tightens; he tugs Aaron a little further over, just a suggestion, no actual force to him.

Aaron goes, shuffling up until he’s lying on Robert’s chest with his thighs bracketing one of Robert’s.

“How’s this?” Robert asks.

It feels good - Robert is warm, and his hands are flat on the small of Aaron’s back with a weight that makes him feel cherished, desperately, and wanted and protected and safe - but.

“It’s a little too much,” Aaron says honestly. His weight’s spread out enough that it shouldn’t be a problem, but he knows both of them are remembering the last time Aaron was on top of Robert - Robert’s voice, hot and rough, murmuring _c’mon babe, do some of the work for a change, will you?_ like a challenge, that fucker, even though they both knew that Aaron gave just as good as he got, maybe more; Aaron’s hands, flat on Robert’s chest, blunt nails digging into the smooth skin, even though Robert had told him again and again _no marks, Aaron, fucking Christ, what do you think we’re doing?_

Aaron breathes out through his nose, letting himself have it - just for a moment longer, the hot firm sprawl of Robert underneath him, the way it feels to be tangled up in him. “Not for tonight.”

Robert’s thumbs trace little circles at the base of Aaron’s spine; they hiss in a breath together, and he lets go. “Yeah,” Robert says. “All right.”

Aaron rolls off him, back to Robert’s side; catches his hand and pulls it over, to press to Aaron’s belly, over his shirt, but enough that Aaron can feel him. He runs hot, does Robert. Wake you up in the middle of the night hot, if you’re Aaron.

Aaron supposes it is already past the middle of the night now. Not worth worrying about.

Robert lets himself be drawn, pressing his front to Aaron’s back, draping one leg over Aaron’s when Aaron hooks his palm under Robert’s thigh and tugs, very gently.

Aaron can feel the rhythm of Robert’s breath settling into Aaron’s bones. “This okay?”

“Shoulda called it,” Robert says, breath hot against the nape of Aaron’s neck. Not exactly platonic, but - close enough. “ _Little spoon._ Of course it’s okay.”

“You aren’t just saying that,” Aaron says, because Robert’s got a weird thing for self-sacrifice lately, and there’s only one of them in this bed who’s any good at it. “I’m not crushing your arm, or-”

“I’m perfect,” Robert says, firmly, wrapping his arm around Aaron’s middle and squeezing, very tight. “This is perfect. Now shut up and go to sleep, all right?”

Aaron settles back against him, arse to belly. It’s good, the way Robert feels. “Okay,” he says. Reaches over to the bedside table. Turns out the light.

Robert’s breath is hot on Aaron’s ear. His thigh presses against Aaron’s hip, and it feels good, like - everything in Aaron’s life is a mess, tumbling about like a tornado in a late night TV movie, threatening to toss Aaron out, up, away - except for this, for Robert, holding on, holding tight, because Aaron asked him to.

“Good night,” Robert whispers.

Aaron says something back, an echo. Lets his eyes drift shut. He’s exhausted, he realises: from the day, from the drink, from the way his body knows to settle into the answering shape of Robert’s. But he thinks he hears, very softly, the sound of Robert’s voice and the words: _I_   _love you._

_Love you too,_ he thinks. He’s already half-asleep; who knows if he manages to say it out loud, or if he’s already dreaming? Doesn’t matter, either way. It’s Robert. Nobody knows Aaron like Robert does: the whole of him, the good parts and the bad.

He doesn’t need to say it, to make Robert hear.

 

-

 

Aaron wakes up and there's sun in his eyes: there's a hand on his stomach and a warm solid mass at his back, and Robert's fucking drooled on the back of his neck. "Jesus," Aaron says, but quietly, reaching over to check the time on his phone. It's not late or anything but it's later than he's slept in ages. He feels himself smile.

He shifts himself, very slightly; if he times it right he'll be able to get out of Robert's octopus grip without having Robert wake up and blink balefully at him, trying for a kiss and then something more -

Oh. Wait.

"Aaron," Robert murmurs, hot against his skin, and his grip tightens, thigh hooked around Aaron's legs pulling him back in.

“Robert,” Aaron counters.

Robert makes a sleepy, confused sound. His palm is flat on Aaron’s belly; somehow Aaron’s top’s been rucked up in the night, so they’re touching, skin to skin. Aaron remembers Robert used to move around a lot more, kicking in his sleep, snoring: right now they’re pretty much in the same position they fell asleep in. Robert held him. All night.

It’s scary, the idea of it. Terrifying.

Like looking into the heart of a fire, or staring your mother in the face and telling the truth.

 

“I’ve gotta go, Rob,” Aaron says. He covers Robert’s hand with his own, fancies he can feel the pulse in Robert’s wrist.

“Stay,” Robert says, stirring himself awake. “I’ll make you breakfast.”

Aaron twists around, to look at Robert blinking furiously, hair sticking in all directions. It would be so easy to kiss him, now. Robert is sleep-tousled and sweet, or sweet for Robert, which really is an entirely different animal; Robert would kiss him, Robert would blink those eyes at him and tangle his hand in Aaron’s hair and push him into the tiny twin and kiss him until they were both breathless, and then kiss him again.

_I’ll wait for you._

“All right,” Aaron says. Turns himself back into the pillow, and tangles his fingers with Robert’s, and closes his eyes. “Fifteen more minutes. And you’re driving us to work.”

Robert laughs, a sleepy, delighted thing. “All right,” he says. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

 

 


End file.
